ROLL WITH IT [g.way x reader]

Chapter 17: Shit Stick Sick

You should've known that the peace would only last so long. As soon as you arrived at Dallas, the next day, you instantly received a phone call from your mother, demanding that you come down and keep her company before your show. How she'd managed to get to the goddamn venue before even you did, since you were setting up at the hotel when she got in touch, you had no idea.

But your mother had a special way of making things seem simple, when they were in fact very complicated. She really loved to do that — whether she did it for her own mental stability, or to make everyone around her pay attention to her, was up for debate.

Nevertheless, you had to ask Harvey to let you go to the place early, so that you could deal with your mother; he'd allowed you reluctantly, worried for your mental health. Once you got there, you had to show your mum around the place so she didn't end up going somewhere she wasn't supposed to.

"I can't believe you get all this space!" she observed, poking around the costume department.

"Well, it's not just for me," you corrected, checking your watch, before returning to fiddling with your CD player that you'd brought along, "it's for everyone."

"Including Mr Gerard Way?" she giggled, spraying a bit of perfume on her wrists.

"Yes," your tone was low with deadpan exhaustion.

"I still can't get over the three year age gap..." she murmured to herself, "I didn't know you were into older men."

"Mum, I'm twenty eight," you reminded her icily, getting irritated with her factual errors. "It's a two year age gap."

"You're twenty eight?" she blinked.

There was a moment, as you both stared at each other from across the room. Her hand was settled on a sparkly pink jacket she'd discovered, long hair perfectly organised, wearing a pristinely clean, white sundress from her garden party earlier, and her mouth in a perfect 'oh' of surprise. Your hand was on your headphones, bags under your eyes, your Rage Against The Machine shirt baggy over your torso, expression duly illuminated with dry, tired wit.

"Sometimes I don't think I know you," your mother mumbled — for the shortest second, you saw the briefest flash of clarity in her face, as if she recognised you as a person for the first time.

The flash was gone, as soon as it came, and she smothered it with the excess of her personality.

"What am I talking about?" she laughed to herself slightly, "You're my little star, of course I know you. Forgive your silly mother for that, sweetie."

You didn't respond, though an inkling of morbid uneasiness spread through your brain. You knew that she had these... 'moments', but you hadn't really considered them all that much. They were just little cracks in her facade that you barely caught sight of, and yet you found yourself starting to give them a bit more thought.